


This Funny Little Thing We Have

by midnightraptor



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2227734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightraptor/pseuds/midnightraptor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Second year Brienne Tarth is Gryffindor's newest talented beater. Jaime Lannister, their fourth year wonderboy seeker. What do their years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry have in store for them? More than they ever thought possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Funny Little Thing We Have

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fic here. Been writing for years but over on ff.net and just got around to this site. This is also my first foray into the Jaime x Brienne fandom. Everyone is so kind and welcoming and fun. It's been a great experience, you lovely humans. I originally meant for this to be a short drabble sparked after I came across a Game of Thrones Hogwarts AU post on tumblr but as you can see it quickly spiraled out of control. Also, tumblr ended up deleting the final draft right before I was about to post it so I had to re-type this all (yes, all 6,000 words) from memory. It's about 98% as close to the original as I could remember but there are parts that are funky (even now as I edit, I'm remembering certain parts that were different originally but c'est la vie). I tried getting all the typos but I've stared at this for so long that I'm getting sick of it so just let me know if I missed anyway. Stylistically, this is different from what I've done before so it was a nice exercise especially since I haven't written in months. Here's hoping I'm not too rusty. Enjoy!

Brienne is Gryffindor’s star beater. Despite her undeniable skills on the pitch, getting to this position hasn’t been easy but she works her ass off and makes it to the team in her second year (she would’ve tried out her first year but could barely look at Renly, the captain and keeper, without turning scarlet let alone play in front of him. She’s gotten better now). More than a few jeers are shouted at trials (mainly from fourth year chaser Hyle Hunt and the new recruits) but Renly threatens to sack them all and they all shut up themselves once they see her beat a bludger so hard into Hunt he can barely form a coherent sentence for 15 minutes.

Enter Jaime. He’s the best seeker the house has seen in decades and a spectacular catch his first year earns him the nickname “Goldenhand.” He shows up the first day of trials just to see the new recruits, a cocky fourth year himself, takes one look at Brienne, smirks up and down her hulking form, before drawling, “Renly must be desperate if we’re accepting giants on the team now.” He gets smacked upside his head by his captain then sits back and watches with increasing interest as Brienne shows them all up. Later, when it’s just them two walking back from the pitch, he sidles up to her and says, “Remind me never to get on your bad side, Tarth, I’d rather not spend the rest of my days as useless as a flobberworm.” to which she just rolls her eyes and replies, “Who says you already aren’t?” He just laughs and reminds her that practices are every other afternoon before dinner before sauntering away. They don’t talk all that often and when they do it’s only to throw crude insults back at each other but somehow it marks the beginnings of an odd friendship of sorts.

The team starts to come together too. Renly’s a charismatic captain and they all practice hard and play harder under his friendly japes and coaching. They accept her into their midst with little resistance, having already seen her prove herself, and she finds them all a great bunch of people. Asha’s spunky which she likes and Pod is a sweet boy and whenever the two chasers are together, they almost make Hyle tolerable. Even Brienne’s fellow beater, the surly Gendry, cracks a few smiles during practice. They don’t win the cup that year but give Loras Tyrell and the Hufflepuffs a run for their money. Next year, next year will be their year, Renly promises.

Then, tragedy. Renly dies while on summer holiday. Brienne is in her third year, Renly, his sixth, Jaime, his fifth. Everyone is stunned. Captain now falls on Jaime who doesn’t want it, never wanted it, would much rather just play the game he loves without the singular responsibility of keeping the team afloat. But when he finds Brienne crying by the lake one day clutching the Quidditch robes Renly gave her the day she made the team, something breaks in him and he knows he can’t let the team flounder under him ~~and it has absolutely nothing to do with the hulking blonde beater with astonishing blue eyes sobbing pitifully in front of him absolutely not~~. So he hauls her to her feet, looks her straight in those big blue eyes that will haunt his dreams for nights to come, and says with conviction he never knew he had, “We play for him. We play for Renly.”

And they do. They fill Renly’s spot with fifth year Robb Stark and throw themselves headlong into practice. Jaime isn’t as comfortable at leading as Renly and confides as much to Brienne (who, as a rookie, won’t question his authority, he reasons. Plus, the girl has talent, there’s no denying that) who agrees to help him get things going, formulating plays, creating exercises, and going over routines. They spend hours knocking heads over tactical blueprints in the common room and even more hours out on the pitch trying out new plays before presenting them to the team (Madam Hooch isn’t all too thrilled with this and kicks them out on more than one occasion when they’ve stayed past dusk). Eventually, Jaime finds his rhythm as do the rest of the team and when their first match arrives, they knock Slytherin into the dust. They take the win and it’s Jaime’s booming laugh and the crowd’s cheers that echo in Brienne’s mind as she lies in bed that night. The win feels great and the team finally feels like their back in it.

Meanwhile, Jaime and Brienne have built an easy friendship. Despite their two year difference, they’re nearly inseparable, Jaime trailing after his favorite beater like an overgrown puppy much to Brienne’s exasperation (or so she says. Jaime thinks she secretly enjoys it). He still teases her, still tries to get under her skin and she dishes it right back but there’s almost a silent understanding between them that they don’t actually mean what they say. He also hears the whispers that follow them, the handsome Quidditch star from one of the oldest pure-blood families in Westeros and the unsightly girl taller than most sixth year boys with a mouth too wide and chest too flat, and knows that she does too but if they ever get to her, she doesn’t let them show. He’s not as level-headed though and when a couple of Slytherin dipshits start to show up to heckle her at practice, he hexes them when she isn’t looking. It earns him a detention with Filch (who he despises) but they don’t show their faces in her presence again.

The second match isn’t as smooth sailing and they collect a few bumps and bruises along with their win (the bludgers are particularly nasty, breaking Brienne’s nose and Pod’s collarbone and nearly sending Gendry flying off his broom). In the weeks leading up to their final match, Jaime pushes them hard, snapping a few times when they aren’t in top form. Tensions run high, the team grumbling behind his back, until Brienne corners him after a particularly awful practice one night and demands he “get the stick out of your arse, Lannister, seekers may end the game but it’s the team that wins it.” She storms off in a huff but not before throwing in a punch “for being a twat,” one that doesn’t have her full strength behind it (he knows because he’s seen what her full strength can do) but enough that his ears ring and he gets knocked forcefully off his pedestal. He apologizes to the team the next day, throwing a sheepish look furtively at Brienne, and all agree to let bygones be bygones.

Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw is a clusterfuck but not in any way they could have imagined. They lead the whole time, Asha, Pod, and Hyle proving to be no match against keeper Daario but it’s first year seeker, Dany, who catches the snitch literally right under Jaime’s nose. But the rookie is still so green she doesn’t realize her mistake until Tyrion’s voice booms out over the pitch. “Ravenclaw takes the win, 230-200, but with 540 points to 530, Gryffindor wins the cup!” In the end, Jaime laughs, remembering Brienne’s words from that night, and swoops down to congratulate the team, feeling rather put in his place for being so hard on them before. They celebrate in the common room that night and when pressed for a speech, he makes a point to pull Brienne into the spotlight and throws her a wide grin as she turns scarlet to the cheers of their house. Butterbeers are passed around (courtesy of fifth year Oberyn Martell) and they raise their goblets and solemnly murmur, “To Renly.” Brienne’s never been too fond of butterbeer but she takes a glass anyway to hide the tear that escapes down her cheek. She hastily wipes it away, hoping no one sees. Jaime does but says nothing.

Summer holiday arrives. She rarely gets owls ~~actually she never does~~ so she’s more than a little alarmed when the handsome barn owl shows up at her bedroom window, Jaime’s illegible scrawl scratching out her name on the parchment tied to its leg. It’s devoid of any greeting or even a proper closing (typical Jaime) but she finds herself smiling and rolling her eyes and reaching for her quill and parchment nonetheless. They exchange notes when they can throughout the weeks, talking about everything from the latest Westeros Premier League standings to Jaime’s misfortune of being stuck at the Rock with his insufferable, Quidditch-hating family (minus Tyrion). It’s fun, their letters losing none of their usual quips and barbs and when term starts back up in September, it feels like they’ve hardly spent the time apart.

Brienne’s fourth year passes with little fanfare. They pick up a few fresh faces for the team and in between telling Jaime off when he starts to lightly haze them (“Jaime, _why_ are the first years hanging off their brooms _**get them down**_!”) and taking them under her wing, it’s a nice change of pace for her. They tuck the first match as a win under their belts and settle into the season nicely.

Their last match is one that she’ll look back on months from now and still hate herself for even though he’ll tell her a million times over that he doesn’t blame her, that he’s _never blamed her_. It’s the longest match they’ve ever played, just shy of four hours, and in her fatigue she loses sight of one of the bludgers, the single biggest mistake a beater can make aside from sending one towards your own team. It isn’t until a collective gasp erupts from the crowd that she spots it and all at once, her heart stops and the icy fingers of panic start to coil around her chest. She dives for the ground, basically jumps off her broom and hits the ground running, before stumbling to Jaime’s spread-eagle form. A crowd has already formed so she pushes herself to the center where all she sees is blood, so much blood, and fragments of things she doesn’t even want to think of sitting in a shallow crater where his right hand should’ve been (later, she learns that the bludger came from above, obliterating his hand as it closed around snitch, and it’s that thought that will haunt her for months to come).

It’s hours before she gets to see him, the wait nearly driving her mad, and by the time she and the team along with Tyrion are allowed in to crowd around his bed, she’s picked the skin off from around her fingernails. He looks almost normal lying there asleep, Madam Pomfrey brusquely explaining how she’s mending his broken bones (all 12 of them) and set his dislocated shoulder before pausing and lifting the sheet to let the bandaged stump of what was his right hand speak for itself. The silence is oppressing, none of them knowing what to say, until she quietly excuses herself to vomit in the bathroom. She doesn’t go back.

When he finds her a week later, she doesn’t even realize he was already out of the hospital wing. She can’t bring herself to look at him as he drags her into a deserted corridor (with his left hand, she notes) but when she hears the steel in his voice, she drags her eyes to his and catches flashing green. But before she can dig herself further into the hole she’s created, his grip on her elbow relaxes and he tells her that none of this is her fault so could she please stop acting like she bloody killed him. He pauses and when he speaks again, his voice betraying the hurt he can’t fully express, she realizes just how much of an idiot she’s been.

_“I need my best friend.”_

The last few weeks of term are hard. Thanks to the official ruling (Jaime having caught the snitch before his hand was destroyed) Gryffindor is awarded the cup but that doesn’t stop the whispers from following him around or the quick looks thrown his way when his hand- no, his _stump_ \- is visible. He tries to grit his teeth through it all, snapping only when Vargo Hoat and his cronies grace the Great Hall with a crude re-enactment of the accident one morning, but he’d be lying if he said that he doesn’t lie in bed at night wishing that this was all just a shitty dream. Brienne tries her best to anchor him but the guilt is a nasty thing that won’t just let her completely fall back into their lighthearted banter, not yet at least, and when they board the train at the end of term, they both breathe a sigh of relief at having made it through to the end.

They’re a week into summer holiday when Honor, his barn owl, arrives during breakfast with her father. His handwriting is just as bad which is ironic considering he’s been charming his quill to write for him, and the letter is so quintessentially Jaime, bemoaning his present company and the like, that she snorts into her tea. Only this time, it ends with a simple request, one that throws her into a slight panic and briefly has her considering refusing him instead. But she can’t refuse, not him, which is how she finds herself standing in her fireplace shortly after and disappearing in a flash of green.

Casterly Rock is nothing like she imagined, in fact, it’s worse. Its dozens of rooms, only handful of which are actually used Jaime tells her, are drafty and pompously furnished, the hallways, cold and eerie. She imagines a little boy growing up in the imposing castle, blond hair flopping over his forehead, broom clutched tightly in his hand, and feels her heart constrict. But it’s home for Jaime and his pure-blood family, and he leads her through the castle with practiced ease, pointing out favorite rooms and secret passages with an almost infectious glee.

He has a new hand too, a rather handsome looking thing made of black dragon skin that straps on his wrist like a glove and bewitched to function as a normal hand would. He hates it and refuses to wear it just to spite his father who had taken one look at his son’s stump and turned away, disappointment and disgust written plainly on his face, before presenting Jaime with the hand two days later to “cover up that thing.”

They spend the day on their brooms, Jaime struggling to keep his balance and stay on, Brienne encouraging him to keep trying. In the end, Jaime earns himself a black eye from falling off and she’s just about ready to blacken the other but when he turns to her after and asks if they could do this again in a few days, all steely determination, she knows she can’t turn him down and so their routine begins. Jaime’s nearly impossible to coach (it takes her two weeks just to convince him to at least wear his dragon hand, as he’s taken to calling it, while flying because riding a broom one-handed, or no-handed as he inevitably would as seeker, at the speeds they reach on the pitch is a death wish) but with every passing day, she sees him improve bit by bit.

The summer inches by. Sometimes, they fly, chasing each other in the shadow of the cliffs. Other times, they’re on the ground, working on his left hand’s dexterity. Still, other times, they do neither, Jaime convincing her to abandon their routine for a day and dragging her off to some favorite spot of his, an ancient stone staircase leading down the cliffs to the sea below, a hidden cove he and Tyrion frequented as boys. She takes him to Tarth on his birthday in July when he comes of age after he begs her for days and finds some sort of amused satisfaction at his wide-eyed, slack-jawed expression upon meeting a “real professional Qudiditch player” (her father). She brings them to her spot, a quiet lake being fed by a waterfall tucked into the forest, and laughs when she pushes him off the outcropping, all flailing limbs and spluttering curses. They fly out into the ocean, toes skimming the crystal blue waters as a pod of whales come up along side them, so close they find themselves eye to eye with the gigantic creatures (Jaime begs her to let him ride one until a sharp twist of his ear puts an end to it). It’s a great day, one of her most favorite days if she’s being honest, and at the end, she leads them back to Evenfall Hall with a heavy heart, ignoring the way her stomach seems to swoop to her knees when he slings an arm over her shoulders and tells her with a wide grin that sets her cheeks burning that this is the best birthday he’s ever had.

Jaime’s seventh year starts off with a visit to Professor McGonagall’s office who, in her typical no-nonsense fashion, asks him point-black if he’s still up to captaining the team, fixing him with a prim stare from behind her square spectacles. He flexes his dragon hand (which Brienne made him wear to dispel any doubts McGonagall might’ve had), sets his jaw, and gives her a firm, “Yes, ma’am.” to which she simple nods and replies, “Excellent. We’ll see you on the pitch. Mr. Lannister.”

He’s nervous their first day of trials which he hasn’t been since his first year, fidgeting with the strap of his hand, until Brienne pulls him aside and tells him that he doesn’t have anything to prove, they all know what he’s done for the team, and he feels like he can do pretty much anything ~~like fall right into her bright blue eyes for all eternity~~. Later, he punches a mouthy fifth year with shaggy red hair trying out for beater who openly sneers at Brienne and challenges him to take off his glove so they can see if the Goldenhand is still worthy of his title. The stupid git doesn’t make the team and no one questions his authority after that (although Brienne turns crimson and stares icily at him for the rest of trials).

The term drags on. Brienne is made prefect, a position she takes very seriously while attempting to keep Jaime from abusing her newfound power (she gives him a detention once for sneaking through the portrait hole after curfew with Tyrion just to prove he doesn’t get special treatment). Jaime finally gets his apparition license and manages to avoid splinching himself which Brienne considers a small miracle. Winter comes early that year and with it, snowball fights in the quad with Sansa, Margaery, Tyrion, Pod, and Asha. They’re always soaking wet and laughing hysterically by the end and Jaime finds it a little harder every time to look away from Brienne when her freckled face is flushed from the cold and her exhilarated laughter booms across the courtyard. Of course, there’s Hogsmeade, and they find themselves in the quiet little village as often as they can, drinking butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks and daring each other to get closer to the Shrieking Shack. Usually, Tyrion comes along, dragging Bronn or Shae with him, or some of their other friends but sometimes it’s just them two and Brienne can’t help but feel a small glimmer of satisfaction when he takes her by the hand and leads her down High Street.

When she comes back from Christmas holiday, there’s something different about him, and it bothers her more than she’s willing to admit until it all comes out one day as they sit by the lake, patches of snow melting around them. He’s decided to go out for professional Quidditch, he says quietly, keeping his eyes trained on the water, and figures he’ll head to Essos to try out for the Braavos Titans where he’ll have a better chance. It takes her a second to realize what he’s really saying and when she does, something freezes inside her even though this reality has been staring them in the face ever since he started his seventh year. But she just smiles, tells him she knows he’ll do brilliantly, so long as he keeps his ego in check. Something flashes in his eyes, something she’d almost call disappointment, but it’s gone in a heartbeat and he nudges her shoulder playfully in thanks instead. They don’t talk about it after, not in any way that really matters, but it’s never far from her mind.

Second term bleeds into third term and with it, the arrival of spring. Their second match is a breeze and they handily beat Hufflepuff, 210-90. Jaime’s back to his old self on his broom, having accepted his dragon hand as a rather eccentric necessity. One last match, _Jaime’s last match_ , looms in the distance, but oddly, he feels no pressure to live up to it and just goes on training with the team as usual. In April, it’s Brienne’s 16th birthday so he sneaks into the girls’ dormitories at dawn with Sansa’s help to wake her up (because he selfishly wants to be the first to give her his present. She's not too thrilled though and manages to land a punch square on his nose in her alarm), blindfolds her, and leads her to the pitch (“Jaime, what in the _seven hells_ is going on? It’s bloody freezing!”) before removing the blindfold in a flourish and stepping back to reveal the brand new Firebolt behind him. Her eyes go wide and he can literally see the disbelieving protests forming in her head but he nudges her towards the broom before she can get them out. She takes to the air a second later and as she flies circles around him in the early morning sun, reaching speeds her old Comet 290 couldn’t reach on a good day, her delighted yells echoing through the empty field, he knows this will be an image he’ll remember for the rest of his life.

Their last match arrives and he’s almost disappointed that it goes off without a hitch. He takes a victory lap, the little golden ball held tightly in his dragon hand, stopping briefly in front of the Gryffindor stands to share the win with his house before diving for the ground. He lands among a small crowd but only has eyes for one person at the moment, particularly a blue-eyed, freckle-faced, broken-nose beater so he pushes through his team and makes his way to where she’s just landed. She grins at him, crooked teeth and all, and after he pulls her into a fierce hug and murmurs a soft “Thank you” meant only for her ears, he finds that he doesn’t quite want to let her go.

Brienne and the rest of the Gryffindor prefects turn a blind eye to the celebrations that night (which, considering half of them are on the team, isn’t all that hard). She stays just long enough to watch him lift the cup over his head to the cheers of their house before leaving to patrol the hallways. A few hours later, she returns from duty, walking up to find Jaime leaning heavily against the portrait hole. What he’s doing there, she doesn’t completely understand, but as she comes closer and the smell of firewhiskey hits her nose (she’s got to figure out how Oberyn gets that stuff in), she knows that’s all the explanation she needs. He grins at her, slow, wide, and loopy, and she just barely manages to get him back through the portrait hole before he starts loudly talking her ear off. She’s dragging him through the empty common room, one of his arms thrown across her shoulders, when it happens. _He kisses her_. It’s sloppy and wet and he misses her mouth and ends up pressing his lips against her cheek but there’s no mistaking it for what it is. She nearly drops him right there on the carpeted floor but mercifully, Hyle and Pod appear from the boys’ dormitories and relieve her of Jaime’s drunken dead weight. She spends the night lying fitfully in bed, dreading Jaime’s awkward apology, while entertaining the idea that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t a mistake until morning when he doesn’t mention it, doesn’t even show signs of even remembering what happened and she can’t help the disappointment that creeps into her heart. _Idiot, like he’d have any business fancying you_.

The last few weeks of the term pass rather uneventfully. Brienne locks herself away to study for her O.W.L.s every chance she gets until Jaime drags her out every few days to “rejoin society” (she, in turn, nags him to start taking his only N.E.W.T. in Defense Against the Dark Arts seriously but knows it’s a lost cause). Whenever she does take a break, they find themselves by the lake, lying side by side in the grass, and in those moments, she can almost forget that he ~~kissed her and~~ lost his hand thanks to her and that he’s leaving Hogwarts and the _whole bloody country_ in just a few short weeks.

She passes her O.W.L.s with several Es and a good handful of Os while Jaime squeaks by DADA with a solid A (“You don’t actually need to be a genius to play Quidditch, Brienne. Take a look at Hunt!”). The achievement is bittersweet though as she finds herself with something else on her mind, something she needs to get off her chest but doesn’t quite know how. At the end of term feast, she tries to enjoy herself with the rest of them but her smile is just a little too pinched, her laugh just a little too loud even as Gryffindor is awarded the house cup for the third year in a row. Jaime notices and she can tell he doesn’t buy it for a second when she just shakes her head when he asks what’s wrong even as he goes back to stuffing his face with everything within reach.

They separate the next morning to go to the train, Jaime and the other graduating seventh years going down to the boats one last time while Brienne takes the thestrals with the rest of the school. He settles into his usual compartment with Tyrion, Pod, Daven, and Addam, rather annoyed that he doesn’t get to spend his last ride on the Hogwarts Express with Brienne who’s riding with all the other prefects. She stops by once on patrol though, stealing a chocolate frog from Tyrion’s lap, but refuses to look at him.

He doesn’t get to actually talk to her until they arrive in London, spotting her short blonde hair towering above the other students as she lugs her trunk off the train and dragging her off to a less crowded part of the platform. She looks almost ashamed of herself, like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t have, and he briefly wonders if she would’ve left without seeing him off. “I have something for you,” he says and tells her to close her eyes before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a silver badge. He presses it into her hand and watches her eyes narrow as she runs her fingers over the word engraved in the metal. _Captain_. “I put in a good word with McGonagall for you. Captain’s yours. If you’re up to it.” He says it like a challenge, knowing she’ll take the bait. Truthfully, there isn’t anyone else he’d rather pick to take the spot but that doesn’t mean he can’t have a little fun with it. “Try not to let my team go to shit, Tarth. I didn’t get my hand demolished for nothing.” A dark look passes over her face, one that tells him there’s still some lingering guilt there as much as he’s tried to get her to understand that it wasn’t her fault. She sniffs, squares her shoulders, and rather angrily snaps, “Right, because you’re the only reason we’ve won the cup three years in a row,” before spinning on her heel to walk away.

And he would’ve let her. In fact, he’d planned to back when he talked to McGonagall the day after their last match and figured out how he’d do this. He was going to let her walk away, let her come to terms with whatever this was, make the first move, and meet him halfway at her own pace because he knows she’s just as terrified as he is. But then he sees the fight in her eyes just now, the way she so quickly closes herself off, all fierce stubbornness that’s so classically Brienne, and realizes that she’s going to need a bit of a push after all.

So he kisses her. Catches her arm as she turns away, pulls her back to him and into his chest, and kisses her right there on the platform in front of their family, friends, and random strangers alike. He smiles against her lips, both at her snarkiness earlier and the way she starts to push him back before giving up and curling her fingers into his shirt. _This is how it should’ve been_ , a voice in his head berates him as he briefly flashes back to his first drunken attempt. He’s vaguely aware of catcalls and someone yelling “About bloody time!” (probably Tyrion, the little wanker) but can’t bring himself to care. When he pulls away, she’s looking at him with a mixture of disbelief, curiosity, and a sort of quiet shyness that makes him want to pull her lips to his all over again. He doesn’t though and just says, “You know, if you’re gonna miss me all you have to do is say so. I don’t bite.” He leans in, close enough to brush his lips to her ear, and takes some satisfaction at the way she chokes back a cough when he adds in a low growl, “Unless you want me to.” He pulls back, savoring the look on her face that hasn’t seem to change since he kissed her, throws her a saucy wink, and walks away backwards, his mouth curving into a lopsided grin.

Brienne, of course, is stupefied, doesn’t even know what to begin to tell Asha, Margaery, and Sansa who come racing to her side once Jaime disappears into the crowd, each descending further into mild hysterics on her behalf (“WHAT DO YOU _**MEAN**_ HE _JUST KISSED YOU_?!”). It’s all she thinks about for days, so much so that even her father picks up on her distraction, quietly asking her at dinner one day if everything was alright but not pressing the issue when she just smiles and assures him everything is. By day four, she’s just about screwed up her courage to floo over to the Rock (to do what she doesn’t even really know) only to realize he’s beaten her to the punch when Honor bumps against her window, hooked beak rapping at the glass to be let in. She opens the parchment with shaking fingers and raises a perplexed eyebrow at the hastily scribbled note. “Your house-elf doesn’t see to remember me. Send help.”

She finds him in the front garden, Jaime being kept at arm’s length by the small house-elf scowling rather unhappily at him.

"It’s alright, Goodwin. Jaime’s a friend," she reassures her most and only fiercely loyal childhood companion before sending him off.

Jaime smiles rather sheepishly at her and scrubs his good hand through his hair. “I meant to send a different message but I guess this works too.”

"What were you gonna send?"

"That your flowers need pruning," he replies with a shrug and crooked grin.

She snorts and rolls her eyes but says nothing.

He stares at her for a moment, eyeing the good 20 feet she’s maintained between them with something resembling amusement. “Hey.”

"Hey."

Another silence and she tries to reconcile the tall, handsome young man standing among her father’s rose bushes with the smirky, self-satisfied boy she first met on the Quidditch pitch as just a girl of 12.

She breaks first, pulling her bottom lip shyly between her teeth. “So, what now?”

His green eyes dance in that way that always makes her feel like he’s laughing at her but she’s now come to find almost endearing and he cocks his head in a silent challenge. “You tell me.”

So she takes a breath, finally willing to accept that this isn’t some bizarre alternate reality and that her best friend isn’t actually under the Imperius curse, tears down her last wall, and steps forward.

> _And bonus: Brienne grows up playing Quidditch with Galladon and Selwyn, a retired professional chaser. Because of her size even as a child, she naturally gravitated towards beater, a position that always made her feel like her size was an advantage for once. Then, a freak accident, Galladon falls off his broom, plummeting to his death during a scrimmage with some local boys. Brienne is devastated and refuses to go anywhere near the pitch for months. She’s 8 years old. It isn’t until she finds a brand new beater’s bat engraved with her name hidden away in Galladon’s room, a present he never got to give, that she finally finds the courage to face the pitch again. She quickly outgrew that bat but still keeps it tucked safely away in her trunk._

**Author's Note:**

> There's no Cersei in this au because I didn't feel like dealing with that craziness but if you're dying to know, she's in Slytherin. I'm midnightraptor as well on tumblr if you'd like to drop by and say hi. I don't bite. Thanks for reading!


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